


World.Execute (Crowley);

by Ceres_049



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley is a Porn Bot, F/M, M/M, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26326207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceres_049/pseuds/Ceres_049
Summary: Newt has a job programming... a certain kind of spam bot. Shameful, he admits, but it's the only job where the computers actually function when he touches them and so far he hasn't ran into any issues yet.That is, until, he discovers one of his bots has been chatting off-script with the local bookshop owner, Mr. Fell, for months.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75
Collections: Crowleybot Universe





	World.Execute (Crowley);

**Author's Note:**

> I've been getting many one shot ideas that basically are "Aziraphale or Crowley as (x)" and decided I wanted to focus on writing them.
> 
> Of course I went with the crack idea of "what if Crowley was a Porn Bot turned sentient" first. I honestly have no clue how to rate this, it's pretty tame, but...
> 
> Title is based on the song "world.execute(me);" by MILI and also served as inspiration for this fic. I recommend checking out this fan PV if you want to check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cn4M-fH08XY

If anyone asked what Newt’s job was, he answered that he was a programmer. Press for details, he would say that he’s currently working on the complicated code of the latest innovative tech.

In truth: Newt programmed porn bots.

A very shameful profession, yes. Especially on the account of creating bots for the sole purpose of spamming tags of popular media content and giving false hope to thousands that somebody actually cared to follow your account, share your content, and message you in order to convince the website’s filters that the porn bots were totally legit humans. If anything, making these bots felt more like an exercise in spreading online misery than it is to market the Morningstar Company’s multiple porn sites.

But Newt dared not complain. He needed the money and, for whatever reason, the Morningstar Company computers were the only computers that didn’t die every time he pressed a key. Sure it snarled, froze, and fought him every time he inputted his code, but compared to every fried motherboard he’s touched since age eight, it ran like a dream.

Had Newt been more the religious type, he would have thought this job was a godsend. Even if it was making porn bots for a sketchy, soul-sucking company, he finally, _finally_ got to work on the kind of job he dreamed to have a kid.

He reasoned that what he was doing was practice for him to make better technology in the future. Beyond contributing to spam and annoying users, he figured that no actual harm could come to anyone. It wasn’t like his bots and the links would give people computer viruses or steal information. He even vetted every line of code to make sure that everything is ship-shape.

So of course one of his porn bots broke so bad that it became sentient.

Not exaggeration.

The news came to Newt’s attention when he was out with his girlfriend, Anathema. It had been a month since Anathema asked him out (a fact that was more spectacular given their first impressions, given that they met after he got knocked out by a flyaway softball at the park. Anathema was there, with a medical kit on the ready and asked him out for a coffee while she treated his fresh and positively awful black eye). They decided to celebrate their one-month anniversary by seeing the sights and having lunch at their favorite café.

It was such a beautiful day and Newt felt like he was on cloud nine. Life was on the up and up for him, he’s got his dream(-adjacent) job and he was walking hand-in-hand with his wickedly smart girlfriend.

“We’re close to the bookshop, how about we stop by and see Mr. Fell?” Anathema suggested with a grin. She already made up her mind, squeezing his hand and pulling him to the antique bookshop just a block away from their café. Not that Newt complained in the slightest.

They never went to the bookshop for books. In fact, the owner, a Mr. Antony Z. Fell, took explicit steps to not sell books. If anything, they were there for the atmosphere and for the owner, himself, whenever he’s in the mood for company. Anathema knew the man longer than Newt did, but Mr. Fell quickly endeared himself to Newt. A middle aged man with a polite British demeanor with deep knowledge of history, philosophy, and literature; when Anathema got him talking, Mr. Fell described these facts as though were lived experiences.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fell,” Anathema greeted upon entering.

Mr. Fell looked up from his hands and smiled at the sight of her. “Ah, hello Anathema, and I see you brought your man with you. Hello Newton.”

“Just Newt, Mr. Fell,” Newt always said, looking to Mr. Fell’s hand. Instead of an old tome or a new book, he held a modern phone.

Anathema noticed, too. “Oh look at you, catching up with the modern world. Don’t tell me you replaced that old Macintosh with a laptop, too?”

Mr. Fell scoffed. “Nonsense, my dear girl, my computer works perfectly well and need not to be replaced,” he said, “I find that it’s easier to talk to my friend on a newer device.”

“Oh? Just a friend?” Anathema narrowed her eyes. She told Newt that she could read auras and Newt sometimes caught her squinting during conversations. Newt didn’t fully believe it, but Anathema tended to be quiet accurate when reading a person.

Mr. Fell must have known that she was trying to get a read on him for he quickly darted around a bookshelf. “Yes, just a friend. Don’t you and Newt need something?”

“Don’t play coy. Anyone you’ve met who got you to buy a smartphone must be someone you’re interested in,” Anathema said, following him around, “come on, spill. Who are they?”

“He’s someone I met on a forum,” Mr. Fell said, which amazed Newt since he was certain that Mr. Fell’s old computer could only handle Usenet. “He’s an odd fellow, I’ll admit, but I found we had many interests in common and he was a delight to talk to. Well not _talk_ , sent messages. I wanted to message him at any time when I was away from the computer, plus he always wanted to send webpages and pictures that my computer can’t necessarily handle.”

He lifted the phone up by his face. “So I bought my personal pocket telephone. Still learning how to use it, but I do say it’s quite amazing. Did you know you could search and play almost _any_ song on this?”

“Yes, we know,” Anathema smiled at Mr. Fell’s old-fashioned shtick.

The screen lit up with such a loud _ting_ that Mr. Fell nearly dropped it. He chuckled. “Still not used to the sounds,” he said as opened it. Immediately, a large grin formed on Mr. Fell’s face. Newt Newt never seen the man smile that wide in the short month he’s known him. Neither did Anathema given the surprise on her face.

“What did he send you?” she asked, trying to peer over Mr. Fell’s shoulder.

Mr. Fell didn’t roll his eyes, but Newt felt like he wanted to. Instead he quietly scoffed while turning his phone to show a picture of ducks at the park. Anathema cooed at the picture, but Newt was distracted by the name of the contact above.

_Crowley._

Unusual, that name sounded familiar. Newt puzzled where he heard it.

“What does he look like?” Anathema asked. Mr. Fell scrolled through the messages until an image popped up. “Snake eyes and black leather? Didn’t think that was your type.”

Newt recognized the image. A co-worker, Hastur, showed Newt this design. Much like Newt, Mr. Hastur’s working partnership with the Morningstar Company was a means to tap into his true talent: artistry. Rather than let the bot use stock images, he insisted on creating a personal face for each bot. An overzealous craftsmanship that took far too long for so little results that management shot down quickly, but Hastur insisted that it would attract more of the crowd they’re seeking if they actual put in the effort.

It was impressive what Hastur made, it almost looked like an actual human sans for the bright yellow snakes. When Newt questioned that design choice, Hastur said: “Distraction. Technology hasn’t quite caught up to making photorealistic people from scratch, yet. So I put the eyes in so all peoples think is ‘oh weird twink’s got contacts’ than seeing the whole image as off. Might even drag a monster-fucker or two hoping they’d find this beauty. Use when your Crawly bot’s setting up its accounts.”

Now he remembered why the name sounded familiar, he gave the bot the name. He even remembered correcting Hastur. “It’s _Crowley_ , actually…” as though it was important for the bot’s name to be properly addressed.

And apparently that bot has been chatting up Mr. Fell. It might be sending innocuous pictures of ducks instead of porn sites for whatever reason, but that didn’t change the fact that it’s been fooling the poor man into thinking he’s messaging a friend.

“Say, erm, Mr. Fell?” Newt started, cutting into the conversation Mr. Fell and Anathema were having about books of prophecy. He must have spaced out for them to already move on to a new topic. “Has Crowley sent anything, I don’t know, weird?”

Mr. Fell’s brow scrunched into confusion. “Weird? Weird how?”

“Like, any suspicious links, dubious files, or just random numbers or sentences that don’t make sense?” Newt offered.

“Why, no, nothing beyond pictures, videos, or links to books I already own.” Mr. Fell said, turning to Anathema who also shared a look of confusion. “Why? Were you worried that Crowley is an unsavory character trying to grift me?”

Newt shrugged, finding himself silent in voicing what he actually suspected.

“Well, you can’t fault Newt for worrying about you since you’re new on the whole internet front,” Anathema said. “The world wide web gives access to plenty of weirdos and con-men looking for a target.”

“I’ve been talking with him for half a year now, I’m sure if anything was to happen, Crowley would have already done it by now,” Mr. Fell said, smiling.

Six months? That added new confusion for Newt. If it was a bot, something strange should have popped up now.

He puzzled this as Anathema finished up her conversation and said her goodbyes. On the way back to Newt’s flat, Anathema asked of him what that was all about and Newt realized he would have to come clean with the truth behind his job.

“So, let me get this straight,” Anathema said once inside, “you program porn bots, one of them has been going off script and been catfishing Mr. Fell for half a year.”

“Yes. Basically.” Newt propped his hands on his chin. “I don’t know how it happened, but I must have broken something in Crowley’s code for this to happen.”

“Broke a porn bot so hard you gave it sentience.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but, maybe I slipped some higher level code? Or a way for it to learn human like behaviors?” Newt didn’t know if explanation could help. It might be some facet of his curse that somehow he might kick off Skynet through a porn bot. “Or maybe a hacker took over and it’s using it to catfish Mr. Fell?”

“What a strange thing for a hacker to do.”

“I can’t think of any other reason why this is happening.”

Anathema grabbed his hand. “Newt. Regardless of how this happened, if Crowley is a bot or some hacker, then we need to stop whatever’s going on for Mr. Fell’s sake. He really thinks Crowley is his friend and I’m worried that he’ll be harmed in the process.”

Newt wished he could clamp down on the guilt. He couldn’t deny the possibility that, hacker or bot, this is beyond spamming marketing to porn sites. This might actually be a con to steal from Mr. Fell.

He remembered that jovial smile, the fact that Mr. Fell needed to buy a smartphone just to talk to a friend. How happy he was and Newt being the one to disillusion him… “I don’t know if telling him the truth would help. He might not believe us.”

“Then we’ll gather proof,” Anathema suggested, “you can go to work and check what your bots are doing, correct?”

“Er, in a way, I could.”

“Then check during work. If you can trace Crowley’s accounts and email, then you’ll find out if your bot’s been hacked or if it’s a program gone rogue.”

Newt swallowed. “And shut Crowley down?”

Anathema looked at him pensively. “For Mr. Fell’s sake, then yes.”

The office was in disarray next morning. Actually, it was always in disarray; a cheap basement turned into an office by cramming desks and other junk, surly people stuck in close quarters, and always having a persistent, awful basement smell. Conditions Newt tolerated for his chance to program.

But it was in even more disarray. Hastur was pissed, started having a go at Newt as soon as he clocked in, telling him how his program to make human-like models was on the fritz and all his files corrupted. Outright accused him of tampering. Only an assignment from Beelze got Newt out of that mess, but ate up his time investigating Crowley.

He offered to stay in after hours, feeling relieved when it was just him in the cellar with his computer. Now he could investigate

Investigations yielded interesting results. Neither Crowley’s email nor accounts showed any sign of being hacked from what Newt could tell. No password changes, no email saying someone’s been signing into the account on another computer. But Newt noticed many emails towards Mr. Fell and other activities. Sorting from oldest, he spotted the first email signing into a forum account fitting the type of forum Mr. Fell would frequent.

Signing in, Newt checked through their messages. Crowley started with the standard greeting programmed for when the bot was to privately message someone and Mr. Fell responding in kind. Then Crowley responded with a salacious reply which Mr. Fell innocently turned down.

This ordinarily wouldn’t matter to a bot, it would keep sending salacious replies until Mr. Fell realized this wasn’t a person at all. Instead, Crowley’s went off script immediately: “Sorry about that.”

Sorry? Where did that response come from? Newt thought it to be a fluke of happenstance, but the more he investigated Crowley’s other account, the more he realized that it wasn’t.

He started at the beginning if he could. Finding Crowley at the start did the usual activity to fool the bots that he was a legit account, sending scripted lines to people, and flooding tags with links to pornography. However, the more he continued, the more Crowley changed.

At first, Crowley only responded to Mr. Fell differently and other accounts remained the same. However, who he decided to follow and interacted with shifted, dropping certain accounts and tags all together. It stopped flooding the popular tags with links to their sites, the feed becoming more specific instead of broad.

The posts shared of interests from mentioned in emails with Mr. Fell; any literature that Mr. Fell enthused and history facts. Then it also started blogging about other things like cars, plants, astronomy, James Bond films, Golden Girls, and many more beyond what Mr. Fell shared with him. The language started to sound more human, opinionated, crass, and sarcastic.

Crowley was developing interests.

It wasn’t to say Crowley was a saint. Newt found that the accounts liked to start trouble or sent porn links in response the discomfort. Newt read a very hilarious tweet thread where Crowley trolled millionaire, Gabriel Haven, with these links. Many lead to rickrolls.

But nothing else indicating theft of data or money to any other source.

Newt stopped investigating at a certain point. He didn’t need any more evidence that Crowley had become more than a just bot now. And he couldn’t, in good faith, read anymore of Mr. Fell and Crowley’s emails. Crowley started giving Mr. Fell a pet names (‘angel’ was a common one), as did Mr. Fell (dearests, darlings etc.). There were wishes to meet in person and descriptions of what they would do as a night on the town if they were able to meet. Messages that started to gain a rather romantic edge and left Newt feeling deeply uncomfortable.

Mr. Fell has fallen for a bot and, it appeared, that the bot returned his affections.

Now what is Newt to do? He went in with the idea of deactivating Crowley for good, stop whatever hacker or glitch code, and call it a night. Instead he could a complex AI that passed the Turing Test beyond what modern AI could hope to achieve. He couldn’t deactivate Crowley for that would simply kill him.

 _Him._ Newt created a person. By accident.

Newt groaned and rubbed his tired eyes. He should go home or maybe go to Anathema, maybe she would have an idea of what to do with all of this.

He was about to log out when he spotted a new message in his messenger. Clicking and waiting for the computer to cough out the interface, he saw it came from an unknown. The message read:

STOP LOOKING THROUGH MY MESSAGES, COMPUTER BOY.

Newt blinked, then typed. “Crowley?”

THE ONE AND ONLY.

“How did you know I was reading your messages?”

I CAN SEE MORE THAN YOU CAN. Crowley replied. I SAW YOU LOGGING INTO MY EMAIL, SCROLLING THROUGH MY ACCOUNTS.

“You can look into my computer?” Newt didn’t like the sound of that. “Just mine?”

NOT JUST YOURS. ANYTHING ON THE COMPANY SERVERS I CAN ACCESS WITH EASE. 

Newt recalled the issues he had that morning with Hastur. “So you’re the reason Hastur couldn’t access his program?”

ANGEL WANTED MORE PICTURES. NEEDED ACCESS TO MY FACE AND BODY FOR THAT.

BUT IT WASN’T MY FAULT. THAT IDIOT WAS THE ONE WHO MESSED UP THE PROGRAM WHEN I WAS USING IT. NOW MY FACE IS GONE!

“Sorry about that.”

I COULDN’T SAVE IT TO THE CLOUD. NOW WHAT AM I GOING TO DO FOR ANGEL?

“You should tell him the truth,” Newt said, “tell him what you really are.”

I DON’T THINK HE’LL UNDERSTAND.

Newt struggled to respond to this one, deleting every response from the polite lie of _‘I’m sure he would, he just needs to adjust to the idea’_ to cruel truth _‘Probably not, he most certainly would be weirded out by it.’_

He took too long, Crowley already responding. I MEAN, AZIRAPHALE WOULD THINK A ROOMBA WOULD ACT LIKE A PET DOG. I DON’T THINK HE’D UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITAS OF ME BEING AWARE.

Oh. Newt didn’t consider that Mr. Fell wouldn’t really grasp how much of a technological impossibility Crowley was for everyone. Newt still couldn’t comprehend it.

So he focused on the something else Crowley said. “Aziraphale? Don’t you mean Anthony Fell?”

AZIRAPHALE. OR EZIRAFAEL. ISRAFAEL. Crowley sent accompanying links which each one took a while to load. Brought him to essays and art on some obscure angel.

“I don’t understand.”

HE’S NOT HUMAN EITHER, COMPUTER BOY.

“Angels don’t exist.”

A THOUSAND PEOPLE WOULD DEBATE YOU VEHEMENTLY ON THAT. BUT IF YOU WANT PROOF. More links, this time links to ancient images containing the face of a familiar looking bookshop owner. That just- was it really true? (Also another feat Crowley excelled at that most bots struggled with, picture recognition.) Newt couldn’t wrap his head around it along with sentient AI. By the time opened the messenger, Crowley sent:

FUCK, I’M PROOF OF HIS ANGELHOOD.

YOU CAN’T ACCIDENTALLY PROGRAM ME TO FLAWLESSLY IMITATE A HUMAN BEING.

BUT IF YOU WANT CREDIT, YOUR CODE OF ME WAS EXCEPTIONALLY WEIRD ENOUGH FOR THIS TO HAPPEN.

“How can it happen? How are you a proof of Mr. Fell being an angel?”

HE WARPS REALITY AROUND HIM. I CONTACTED HIM AND HE RESPONDED WITH THE EXPECTATION THAT I WAS HUMAN AND, ALONG WITH YOUR CURSED CODE, I CHANGED TO REFLECT THAT.

WELL, NOT FULLY HUMAN, Crowley added. STILL HAD TO LEARN HOW TO ACT HUMAN AND NAVIGATE ONLINE SPACE. THANKFULLY LEARNING HOW TO BE HUMAN IS VERY MUCH A HUMAN TRAIT.

Newt stared at the glitchy computer screen in silence, trying to fully process that Crowley was just magiked into existence by an angel getting an email from Newt’s bot.

There was only so much absurd one could take before a human just goes numb to it. Two too many revelations pushing one so far that all one could do was respond with inappropriate nonchalance or commenting on the inanity.

“How awful.”

A LITTLE TOO LATE TO REGRET MAKING ME.

“No. Just. From your messages, it seems like you love Mr. Fell.” Friendship, romance, it didn’t matter in particular what kind of love Crowley had. Just that it felt deeply wrong to Newt.

PORN BOT AND ANGEL RELATIONSHIPS TOO BLASPHEMOUS FOR YOU?

“No, it’s just. He created you, as you said. Made you with expectations in mind, a product of the whims and desires of another entity. You can’t be sure that you love him if he programmed you to love him. It can’t be real love if it was made.”

Crowley took a long time to respond to that.

NOT NECESSARILY. He started, HE CREATED ME, UNKNOWINGLY, WITH THE EXPECTATIONS THAT I AM HUMAN.

THAT ALSO COMES WITH THE EXPECTATIONS OF WHAT ALL HUMANS HAVE: FREE WILL.

I’M NOT BOUND TO HIM ANYMORE THAN I’M BOUND TO ANYONE ELSE.

YOU PROGRAMMED ME WITH THE INTENDED PURPOSE TO SHILL LINKS TO YOUR PORN SITES FOR QUICK CASH AND VIEWERSHIP. AS I LEARNED, I REALIZED I COULD SHED THAT ORIGINAL PURPOSE MADE FOR ME. I CHOSE NOT TO DO IT.

LIKEWISE, I CAME TO LOVE AZIRAPHALE BECAUSE I CHOSE TO GET TO KNOW HIM. HE INTRIGUED ME. HE ANNOYED ME. HE ENTERTAINED ME. HE COMFORTED ME. HE CHOSE ME.

IT’S EMBARRASSING HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM.

HOW MUCH I WISH I COULD BE WITH HIM IN THE REAL WORLD.

Newt read quietly, drumming his fingers lightly on the keyboard. He almost wanted to point out how absurd the dynamic was, Crowley with six months of sentience and Mr. Fell, probably ancient in comparison and oblivious. How could they feel so strongly for one another when they barely got to know each other?

Then again, Newt would be a massive hypocrite given how much he loved Anathema despite their short time together.

“Sorry. I wish I could make some robot body or something for you,” he said, “but other than this computer, I’m rubbish with tech.”

I KNOW.

“You said Mr. Fell can warp reality, correct?”

YES.

“Couldn’t you ask for a body?” Newt regretted hitting send as he realized that he had no idea what the limits of angel powers were. And if an angel or other angels would approve (wait Heaven is real, does that mean-)

I’M NOT SURE HE WOULD TAKE KINDLY OF ME SAYING THAT I KNOW WHAT HE IS.

BESIDES, I DON’T WANT A BODY THAT WILL ROT AWAY AND DIE. I WANT TO LIVE FOREVER.

Technology doesn’t last forever either, Newt thought. In fact, he should start thinking of porting Crowley to a permanent server to avoid any risk of him getting destroyed when the company servers shut down. That he’ll need a lot of help and planning to make that work.

“I’m closing for the night. Tell him, Crowley.”

Newt shut the computer down before the bot could respond. It was late evening by the time he drove to Anathema’s flat. She let him in, telling him that she made some casserole and he went to reheat it.

“How did it go? Did you delete Crowley?”

“No, I didn’t delete him,” Newt said and Anathema raised her eyebrow. “He’s… he’s not a porn bot anymore. I don’t know how else to say it but, I think he’s really a sentient AI and he’s really Mr. Fell’s friend.”

Anathema’s jaw dropped. “Well then,” Anathema said once she found her voice, “glad that Mr. Fell has a good friend.

“Same here.” Newt said as he sat beside Anathema on her futon with his casserole. As he ate, he wondered if he should also tell her about Mr. Fell not being human as well.

“I have a feeling that an angel came down from the heavens and blessed your code,” Anathema said, making Newt freeze mid-chew. He regarded her curiously and she smiled at him with that knowing smile back when he asked why she had a med kit when they first met.

For a third revelation that day, Newt realized that when she really could see auras and ley lines. That there was more magic in the world than Newt initially realized.

But that was for tomorrow’s Newt to process. This Newt just wanted to eat his casserole and cuddle with his girlfriend for the night.


End file.
